


Hot -and Cold- in Herre

by clarkoholic



Category: Smallville
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkoholic/pseuds/clarkoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark is sick and a sick Clark is an annoying, whinny Clark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot -and Cold- in Herre

**Author's Note:**

> Beware! This is silliness.

"I'm dying," he croaked.

She grinned, "You are not dying," and brushed his damp locks away and placed a cool wet cloth in their place. She held the back of her hand to his cheek to gage his temperature.

He closed his eyes, relishing in the cold touch of her hand. "Then why does it feel like I am?"

"Sweetheart, you have the flu," she explained patiently for the third time. "It's very common." She took another blanket from a nearby chair and draped it over him.

"Not in June."

"That's true," she tucked the blanket around him, "Your immune system must be reacting to finally being used after so many years."

"I'm so hot," he said, pushing the blankets away.

"I thought you were cold." Martha grabbed the blankets and tossed them back on the chair.

"I _was_." He groaned in frustration, his stomach somersaulting as he rolled onto his side and curled up, groaning again when the pain in his stomach escalated.

The smell from his new best friend, Mr. Bucket, didn't help his queasiness but keeping Mr. Bucket close was a necessity; he learned that lesson the hard way or more accurately, his mother did. She was a God sent, he realized as she came to his side, eased him back onto the couch and then immediately cleaned up his mess. Of course, after that she insisted on sticking her smelly mop bucket by his side _'just in case.'_

"Are you sure I'm not dying? I've heard it's possible," he said with a moan, the pain easing slightly.

"Clark," she said with the 'ar' drawn out then laughed at the sight of her six foot four son curled on the cough, giving her the biggest pouty face he could muster.

"Don't laugh," he said between moans, "death isn't funny."

She laughed again, unable to help herself. "You are not dying. Stop being such a baby."

"I'm sick, dying even, I can be as big a baby as I want." She just smiled at him then walked back into the kitchen to fix his soup.

He hated this. If he had known he'd feel like this a week after being human he'd have dropped Lana on her ass and booked it to the Fortress. It wasn't like Lana mattered now anyway, with the dying and all. And when did it get so cold?

"Moooom."

"What sweetheart?" he heard her call from the kitchen.

"I'm cold."

"And?"

"I can't reach my blankets." He heard an exasperated sigh that ended in an amused laugh then she appeared holding a tray with a bowl of soup and glass of juice on it. She set the tray on the coffee table then gathered his blankets and tucked him back in.

"Can you sit up, honey? You really should eat something."

"Nooo. Food bad."

"Well, you need to try. It will help you feel better, I promise."

He sighed, "Fine." He slowly sat up and let his head stop spinning before he took the steaming bowl from her hands. "But you're the one on bucket duty. Keep that in mind."

She smiled, "At least you still have your sense of humor," and brushed his bangs away again to check his temperature. She frowned at the heat radiating from his forehead. It was hard to see her baby sick, especially since it was the first time. The only other time he was ill was while she was equally sick and at the hospital. Jonathan had taken care of him but from what he told her, it was significantly worse than this. The mother in her felt guilty she wasn't able to be there and take care of him but at the same time, a small part of her was grateful she didn't have to see him in such a bad state. She liked to think she would be able to handle it with grace and strength but he was her baby boy, no matter how big he was, and she thought she could have easily fallen apart at the sight.

The soup was soothing to his sore throat but without super invincibility, it burnt his tongue. "Ahh," he hissed, "hot."

"Oh I'm sorry sweetheart!" Martha handed him the glass of juice and took the bowl. "I forgot. I'm so sorry." She had done that a few times since he lost his abilities. She never had to teach him to blow on hot soup to cool it down or to use a potholder with hot pans or even to turn the faucet to cold before putting your hand under it. He'd been literally burned more in the last few weeks than his entire life.

That, on top of getting the flu had turned him into a whiny five year old. Not that she didn't mind taking care of him but the constant drawn out mooomm's were on her last nerve. Jonathan's suggestion of a bell was shot down right away.

After taking a small sip, Clark gave her back the glass and she gave him the bowl again. "It's okay. Although, I think I need to start keeping a list of what's 'hot' and 'notsohot.'"

She smiled, "I'll get a pad of paper." Then went back into the kitchen.

He ate half the bowl before his face turned -if possible- paler and twisted unpleasantly. He set the soup on the table and lied back down on his side, one hand on his stomach and one over his mouth. "Uhh," he moaned, his stomach in knots. Rolling knots.

The front door flew open and Jonathan came into the living room, bringing with him a rush of hot summer wind. "Feeling any better, son?" he asked, sitting on the coffee table next to Clark.

"Uhh," was his reply and his dad's amused laughed made him say, "Why does everyone keep laughing at me? This isn't funny."

Jonathan's expression cleared, "You're right, I'm sorry." He called to the kitchen, "Martha, Clark doesn't want us laughing at him anymore, okay?"

"Okay," she simply called back but Clark could tell she was trying not to laugh.

Jonathan smiled at him "See? We don't think it's funny."

"Whatever," he brooded, "You won't be laughing when I keel over." And that made Jonathan laugh again.

Sometimes family sucked as much as they rocked, he thought. His stomach did another somersault and a hot sweat broke out over him. He dared movement and kicked the blankets off, "Ugh, why is it so hot in here?!"

End.


End file.
